Grace
by Avon
Summary: AU.  Bartlet is to be impeached following the MS revelation.  Sam struggles to write a justification when he can't forgive the betrayal.


_The day is done, and the darkness_

_Falls from the wings of Night,_

_As a feather wafted downward_

_From an eagle in his flight._

_Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_

In his office, Sam gazed at a dark window. All he could see in the blackness was his own reflection, but he continued to look out as though he could see some wild vista. His fingers played restlessly with a pen. For once, the TV in his office was silent but voices seeped through from the office next door where Toby was restlessly changing channels as though one of them would tell him a different ending. The voices were solemn, heavy with gravitas, as befitted a presidential impeachment. Sam wished he could shut them out.

He'd been the angriest of them, but he'd never truly thought they wouldn't ride this out. He'd seen it as a storm at sea and had been angry that they found themselves in the heart of it, just as he would have been angry with a skipper careless enough to risk his craft and crew in such a way. He'd been angry too – and resentful and hurt – that he had been told by another. He'd torn his life in half for this man, leaving job, home and love, only to discover that he'd been following a lie… and that apparently he wasn't even worth a personal apology.

Sam dropped his head on his folded hands. It wasn't working. He couldn't even find enough anger to replace this sick emptiness. He felt cold, beyond the reach of any emotion. The hollowness inside him was filled by the word impeachment, as though he had heard nothing, seen nothing and felt nothing since the House Leaders had announced it. He whispered the word, tried to find other words, tried to begin the speech they would undoubtedly have to write, Toby and he, but there was nothing there. He shivered in his emptiness: a writer bereft of words.

"Sam?" Donna stood hesitating in the doorway. "Are you – could I come in?"

Sam had turned to look at her. He nodded slowly and Donna came in and sat down on his visitor's chair, curling her feet under her.

"Josh is with Leo. He said, go home – but I can't." Her voice shook slightly. "I just can't, Sam, and I can't stand sitting there alone."

Sam felt as though he was trapped someplace a long way from her, but he saw that she had been crying. Awkwardly, he reached out and patted her arm. He knew he should say something, but he still hadn't found any comfort for himself. She smiled at him, though, and then her face crumpled again.

"Oh, Sam – how must he feel?"

For the first time Sam looked at her and really saw her.

"President Bartlett?" he said and discovered his voice was scratchy as though from disuse – how long had he been sitting there?

She nodded. "It must be bad enough to have such a terrible disease – but now to lose everything you've worked for to it…."

Sam said, a little bitterly, "And because he lied."

"But if he didn't lie then he wasn't going to be treated fairly. Why should it matter anyway? He's not going to be leading the troops in the trenches, and we know he's got a brilliant mind. Why does he have to waste that?"

Sam just looked at her, thrown off-balance by a viewpoint he hadn't even considered.

"You don't mind for you, do you?" he asked slowly.

Donna smiled shakily. "I loved my job, but I'm healthy and I'm not being shamed in front of the whole nation. I don't see I've got that much to mind, Sam."

Words stuck in Sam's throat, but not in his mind. Suddenly he found phrases and words writing themselves. They were words of apology, for a lie had been told and the citizens of the United States had as much right to be angry as Sam did, but also words of defiance. On what shaky ground do we all stand when we decide it is permissible to discriminate on the basis of illness or disability? Shouldn't we celebrate someone who, along with millions of Americans, refuses to let a disease define who he is and what he can be?

For the first time in what seemed like weeks Sam felt himself relax. He reached out, grabbed the remote and switched the TV on. CNN were debating historical precedents in front of a blown up photo of President Bartlet on a Bartlet for America poster. Click. Bartlet was shown walking down the steps outside Congress. Click. The Senate President was being moral about lying to the American public. Click. A grab of President Bartlet's Inauguration address was being shown.

_Together as Americans we will once again aim for what is beyond us, for what seems impossible to achieve. We will choose to do things 'not because they are easy, but because they are hard'._

Sam, who had stood and listened to that speech shaking with nerves and pride, felt his eyes and throat burn with tears as his president looked up to meet the eyes of the nation. Leo and he – did anyone know better about choosing to do the things that were hard? About fighting – and yes, lying – to achieve what others would make impossible? Words cartwheeled through Sam's head.

_I apologise for not telling you the truth; you had a right to expect it. I do not and will not apologise for refusing to give up, for refusing to let my condition become the definition of who I am. If my presidency ends now, let it start a debate on the rights of the millions of Americans who live with disability and disease. Let that be my legacy."_

He reached out for the yellow legal pad lying on his desk then stopped. Donna was watching the television, her hands tight in her lap. He reached out and gently touched her arm.

"Thank you for giving me grace. Grace and compassion. You're right – this is about fairness and about President Bartlet – not us. Not any of us."


End file.
